Free Capture the Wind for Me by Brandilyn Collins Page A

I added a bit of cream for thinning. No longer a glaze, but it proved an intriguingly flavored sauce.
    Katherine materialized from the family room. “May I help?” she asked.
    â€œNo,” I said a little too forcefully. “Thank you.” I continued working, the competent homemaker preparing for the guest. She left without a word. I heard her voice, then Clarissa giggled. My, hadn’t my sister recovered in a hurry.
    Little left to do but fill the glasses and set out salads. When that was done, I bustled into my room to brush my hair and check my face. I’d wanted to put on a little makeup, but no time for that now.
    By 6:40 we sat at the dining room table.
    Daddy said a fervent prayer, thanking God for Katherine’s presence. The way Robert smiled at her afterward made me feel sorry I’d placed her on his side of the table. Clarissa ogled her as well. And Daddy looked . . . I couldn’t put my finger on the word. And then felt sorry when I did.
    Expectant.
    The whole family had obviously gone crazy. Even Winnie forgot how to act. She trotted up to the table and nudged Katherine’s arm with her long nose, begging for a pat.
    â€œWinnie!” I said sharply. “We’re eating. Go lie down.”
    Winnie had something in common with Clarissa. They both couldn’t hide an emotion if their lives depended on it. Winnie’s ears went back and her head hung. She turned away with a doggy sigh and dragged herself theatrically from the room. A few seconds later, we heard her flop upon her bed near the laundry room.
    â€œOh, how cute,” Katherine exclaimed. “She knows just what you said.”
    I managed a little smile, inordinately pleased that our dog had displayed her awareness of who was boss in the house.
    My meal turned out amazingly well. Katherine voiced her pleasure over every dish without sounding placating. That threw me, I can tell you. I’d have had a much easier time disliking her if she’d oohed and aahed with abandonment. Instead, she asked me questions, one competent chef to another. How long had I cooked the orange sauce? Was that mushroom soup she tasted in the broccoli casserole? And which herbs were in the crackers?
    â€œKatherine worked as a caterer for how long, five years?” Daddy offered. “She could probably talk to you about recipes all day.”
    â€œMiss Jessie told me,” I replied. Suddenly I wondered if Katherine would see my dessert as a reconstruction.
    â€œAre you able to eat, honey?” Katherine asked Clarissa. “You don’t want to miss your sister’s wonderful meal.”
    â€œA little.” Clarissa’s forehead etched with martyrdom as she picked at her food.
    I gave my sister a pointed look. “I don’t know when you’re going to learn not to stuff yourself with candy.” I turned to Katherine. “I watch how much she eats here. But when she’s at a friend’s house . . .” I sighed. Daddy shot me a glance. I pretended not to notice.
    The conversation lulled, and Katherine began asking questions. She pulled more information out of us than I’d ever have imagined. She asked Robert about school and softball. He answered her queries and more, adding details about his friends and not-so-favorite teachers. And by the way, did she know that today was the first time he’d ever gotten into a fight? Clarissa alternately giggled over her games with Della and complained of how Alma Sue always got her way.
    â€œWhy is that?” Katherine wondered.
    â€œWell, for one thing”—Clarissa twisted her mouth—“she’s a lot bigger than me and my other friends. All her older sisters and brothers are big, too. And she’s better at stuff than anybody. She runs faster and jumps higher and kicks balls farther, and everything.”
    â€œYeah,” Robert added, “and she’s got a much bigger mouth.”
    Katherine raised her eyebrows at